


So This is What Makes Life Devine

by missmichellebelle



Series: Cinderfella [2]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cinderella, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Get some sleep, for tomorrow we fetch you a husband.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	So This is What Makes Life Devine

It’s possibly the strangest shoe Darren has ever seen. It’s unlike the boots he’d been wearing, cut short and below the ankle. Had Chris been wearing stockings? Darren furrows his eyebrows—he hadn’t been paying much attention to  _what_  he’d been wearing, after all. He'd been much more fascinated with _who_ was wearing it. He sits in his quarters, turning the shoe about in his hand, ignoring the fact that elsewhere in the palace a ball continues in his honor. His parents will understand, once they know.

The shoe is neither black nor brown, but white, a mixture of leather and cloth that Darren has never seen before. There are no laces, and no buckles, and really no way that the shoe could have stayed on Chris’s foot. And yet it had. Darren runs his fingers over the gems sewn into the fabrics in wonder, because why put so much beauty into a simple shoe?

“Found you.”

Darren starts, nearly dropping the shoe, and then holding it close as he looks up and sighs.

“Joey.” He shakes his head. “Shouldn’t you be at the ball?”

“Asks the man whose ball it is,” Joey counters back. “I thought I could go one night without keeping my eye on you. Alas, it seems you will always require my supervision.”

Darren pushes away his hand, knowing full well it’s coming to rumple his hair.

“Supervision I never asked for, and that you were never granted, my friend.”

“Unnecessary details,” Joey insists, and then sits down beside Darren. “I was hoping I’d come and find you hidden away with a lady friend, yet here you are. Alone.” Joey gestures to him, exasperated. “The women of the court basically throw themselves at your feet. You love to play, prince,” Joey teases with a grin, but it softens, “but I have never seen you keep. Wasn’t this what your ball was for?”

“Indeed.” Darren stares down at his hands, and at the shoe, once more, and sighs. “You should rejoice in knowing that it was successful.”

Joey’s face lights up, a grin stretching his lips, and he’s immediately hopping to his feet.

“Successful? And yet here you sit, alone, moping! Should we not be celebrating? Where is your bride-to-be?”

“Not a bride,” Darren responds wryly, looking up with an arched eyebrow, and a look of understanding dawns across his best friend’s face.

“A husband, then,” Joey replies, with just as much enthusiasm. “Although I cannot help but feel a sense of indignation that  _I_  was not your first choice.”

Darren chuckles at that.

“Only because I do not wish to steal you away from a public that will give you the adoration you well deserve.”

“Hmm… True. I do not think you could fulfill my needs,” Joey responds loftily. “But where is this man who can fulfill yours?” He wiggles his eyebrows, but the taunting falls away as Darren remains silent. “Darren?”

“…he left.” He twists the shoe in his hands. “I was about to kiss him, and he… Got up and ran away.” Joey winces. “He kept saying he had to go, that he was sorry, and now…” Darren holds up the shoe, and Joey seems to notice it for the first time. “This, and a name, is all I have left of him.”

“This is unfortunate news, indeed…” Joey muses, tapping his chin. “But a name and a shoe are much better than nothing. Where is the prince I grew up with? He would not let circumstances such as these deter him.”

“Joey, I did not even see his face without his mask, how can I—”

“He’s the one you chose, Darren. Would you give him up so easily?”

Darren remembers the way Chris would glance away whenever their eyes met, but he remembers their clear and dazzling color. He remembers the timbre of Chris’s voice, and the way his cheek felt beneath his searching fingers. He remembers how easily they moved together, how easily they traded words and found common interests. Darren’s grip tightens on the shoe.

“No,” he says, with renewed fire, and he stands. “If I have to search the entire kingdom, I  _will_  find him.”

“Now that’s the prince I know.” Joey claps him on the shoulder.

“Go to my parents for me? I must make haste for the hall of records. I do not think I can rest until I find him.”

Joey nods, folding both of Darren’s hands around the shoe, and then gives him a shove out the door.

“Then you’d better run, your majesty!”

*

A name is less help than Darren had thought it would be, especially given that he is without a father’s name or title to attach it to.

He knows he could just as well ask around, because court is like an interconnected web, but not even his mother knows every member by first name alone. It had not occurred to Darren to ask for a title, seeing as he had asked Chris not to treat or call him by his.

Court is large, but not incredibly so—still, it takes Darren several hours of consistent searching before he makes his way through the entirety of the records.

There is not a single  _Chris_  in the entire court.

Exhausted, he sits back in his chair, staring at the open records before him in confusion. True, the ball had not been explicitly slated towards the court—Darren knows all the women in court, and he was already certain of not wanting to marry any of them. He had convinced his parents to allow him to send invitations to every household in the capitol city.

Ah, but  _of course_.

_I take it you haven’t been to the palace much._

_No. This is my first time._

Another hint then, at least—Chris is neither of the court, nor could he have come from afar.

Darren eyes the census records on the shelves, but shakes his head. It will aid him no further to search by name alone. Unless Chris is the head of his household, and Darren finds that quite doubtful, then no invitation will have been sent to him specifically.

He leaves the records behind, and is unsurprised to run into Joey in the hallway.

“You look like a wild man on a quest,” he jests, falling into step beside Darren.

“That’s because I am.” He shoots a grin at his friend. “And tomorrow it shall become all the more wild. Chris is not of the court, so I cannot find him that way.” Darren comes to a stop, and grabs hold of Joey’s arm to halt him, as well. “So tomorrow, I will begin my search of the capitol.”

“Your search of the capitol?” Joey asks, eyes going wide. “You plan to knock on every door and inquire after every gentleman?”

“Yes,” Darren responds simply. Joey laughs.

“Your father will not be fond of you parading around town as such, but we all know that nothing can stand between you and what you want.” Joey slings his arm around Darren’s shoulders, and they start to walk again. “I think I shall accompany you. Someone needs to keep you out of trouble.”

“Then you are my worst choice,” Darren teases, and Joey shoves him playfully. “But thank you, for humoring me.”

“Not humoring. Helping,” Joey corrects. “But bring that shoe along. Any man, even one not of that inclination, will lie through his teeth for a chance at the crown. I fear your search will not be easy.”

Darren frowns, deeply, but nods.

“I will not be easily fooled,” he insists. “We shall not share his name, and ask instead for all young men at home.”

“Perhaps we create a story of our own. If the public do not know you plan to make your find your husband, we shall lower our chances of being cheated.” Joey snaps, as if an idea suddenly hits him. “A thief. He has stolen a shoe, just like the one you carry, for there are no shoes like it in the entire kingdom.”

“But what of those who try to hide?”

“Then they are true, guilty thieves. But your Chris is not a thief, and has no reason to hide.”

“As much difficulty as you cause me, I do not know what I would do without you.”

“You flatter me, prince, but may I remind you that you are practically betrothed.” They pause at a door, and Joey gives a small, bowing nod of his head. “Get some sleep, for tomorrow we fetch you a husband.”

*

Even brushing through every resident in the capitol city cannot be done in a day—much to Darren’s disappointment, they return to the palace that first evening without Chris and without any further leads. They stick to Joey’s plan and speak nothing of Chris, deciding to not even speak of the shoe itself, simply stating that something precious of the prince’s has gone missing and they are looking for the culprit responsible, so will every member of the household please come forward? By the time they set out on the second morning, the word has spread that the prince is out—in person—looking for some sort of thief.

Darren knows they had no sort of advantage with secrecy before, but knowing that he’s out and about seems to be enough to draw people from their houses and clog up the streets. Their going goes slower and slower, especially as they’re stopped exceedingly more often by those who had attended the ball. While the curiosity and gossip over the mysterious thief and the prince’s missing treasure circulate, still more people are curious as to the outcome of the ball.

Many ask where the prince had disappeared to, or if he’s made a decision, or when the impending wedding shall be. Even with how often Darren has been in such situations, he finds his patience beginning to wear thin, as ladies of the court stroke at his arms and flutter their eyelashes, trying to keep his attention for as long as possible. But Darren is antsy with his impatience, and while he becomes tersely polite through each interaction, he hardly humors them.

Joey would accuse Darren of having a one-track mind, and he would be absolutely correct.

By the end of the fourth day, they have worked their way out of the main center of town and to the houses and manors that are spaced by hilltops and farmland.

“I’m beginning to think it was all a dream,” Darren says mournfully as they return to the palace that night. Joey frowns at him.

“Your imagination is a powerful thing, but I don’t think even you could manifest a shoe.” Joey gestures towards it, but does not pick it up. Darren does, however, knowing that it’s strange to find so much comfort from so simple a thing. But the shoe is proof that Chris is out there, maybe holding the other shoe himself, maybe thinking of Darren. He smiles without joy—that seems ridiculous, even to him. Still, hope is all he has to hold onto now.

*

Living outside the walls of the capitol does not immediately point to poverty, but the wealth comes from the land rather than from titles. They journey further now, between houses and families, and are presented not only with members of the household and servants, but farmhands as well. Darren’s never even been this far from the palace, and he knows the curious and interesting look that’s on every face he sees is reflected back—they have seen him as little as he has seen them.

The day has nearly ended, and Darren feels the days of the search wearing on him heavily. It seems more and more that he is simply going through the motion rather than actually searching, but he knows there isn’t much more he can do in his venture.

“Announcing His Royal Highness, Prince Darren, and Ward of the Crown, Count Richter.” A servant announces them at this house—it isn’t the first one, but there haven’t been many, this far from the walls.

“Death on whoever evoked announcements,” Joey mutters as the servant leaves them in the main hallway.

“Death on whoever made necessary titles,” Darren grunts in response, and Joey flashes him a smile.

“Careful, prince. Your words have the power to make such things come true.”

“Your majesty.” A woman, dressed in garments far too fine for as far from the city as they are, sweeps into the entry. “What an honest surprise.” She dips into a low curtsey, and Darren stays her with a gesture of his hand.

“Forgive us for the intrusion, madame,” Joey goes on to say. “We do not mean to take up your time.”

“You may take as much time as you wish, your grace. In fact, it is quite supper time, may I entreat you to—”

“We shall have to decline,” Darren is quick to cut her off. “Many thanks for the invitation, but we are here on business, and cannot stay long.”

“Business?” She asks, pulling herself to her full height; her curiosity is easily feigned, as if she thinks they’ll believe that the rumors have not traveled this far. “May I enquire what business brings you to my humble home?”

“Something precious of the prince’s has gone missing, and we are in search of a thief,” Joey responds, steadily, as he has hundreds of times already.

“There are no thieves in my household, your majesty.” The woman looks at him, earnestly. “I would not—”

“Nonetheless, I ask that you call your household to the parlor. For I am sure I will recognize the thief once I see them.” Darren keeps his smile kind, but his stance and eyes remain authoritative, and she nods her head.

“Of course.”

*

Despite having a servant to announce them, their household is not large. The woman of the house tries to present her daughters—who had, apparently, been at his ball—but again, Darren stays her. He has been at too many houses, and has had too many daughters pushed into his eyesight.

“Is this all of them?” He asks, and the woman’s eyes dart across those in attendance before her expression darkens.

“Excuse me, your majesty, just a moment.” She disappears through a door, and Darren shares a look with Joey.

“—you disobedient boy, you  _come_  when you are  _summoned_.” She walks back into the room, dragging a boy much younger than the rest of the party by his ear and settling him into line. He does not lift his head, his face turned towards the floor, and his shoulders high around his ears. “I apologize, your highness.” She shoots the boy a glare.

“It’s… It’s quite alright.” Darren can’t stop looking at him, and notices the way he tenses when Darren speaks. He turns to Joey, and then reaches out for his arm. “Retrieve the box from the carriage,” he asks in a lowered voice, and Joey’s eyes widen, but he nods, and then leaves the room, the collected company watching him.

Darren walks down the line, hands behind his back, and makes a show of looking at each person in the line with great consideration. But it’s the boy at the end who’s caught his interest—the one who, not once, has looked up to meet his eyes. He comes to a stop in front of him, and waits, but the boy does not raise his head.

“Show the prince some respect,” the woman snaps, and the boy shrinks, as if he’s about to be stricken. The idea itself pains Darren.

“It’s alright,” he says, not looking away, and then leans forward slightly. “What’s your name?”

“I—” the boy’s voice is hardly a whisper, and stutters to a stop.

“I apologize, your majesty.” The woman sweeps over next to him. “He’s always been incredibly disobedient.” Her voice turns to a sneer. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was your thief,” she spits.

Darren ignores her, reaching forward instead to take the boy by the chin and lift his face up. His skin is dirty, covered in dirt and soot, and Darren fights the urge to slide his hand and cup the boy’s face, wondering if it would feel familiar. The boy still keeps his eyes down, though.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he whispers softly, and the boy’s skin flushes. “Look at me,” Darren asks, lips quirking slightly. “Please?”

Hesitantly, cautiously, the boy raises his eyes, and the color strikes Darren immediately.

“Your highness.” It’s Joey, at his side, holding the box, and Darren grins at him before taking it. When he looks back, the boy seems incredibly nervous, and equally terrified.

“I think I have something that belongs to you,” Darren says quietly, ignoring every single other person in the room. He opens the box, and then slowly pulls out the shoe. “Can you tell me, perhaps, whether or not this remarkable shoe is yours?”

“Nonsense.”

Darren wishes for patience, and then turns to look at the woman.

“Christopher owns nothing of that sort, and if he does, he surely stole it.” She narrows her eyes. “I never thought much of you, boy, but to have a thief in my very house—”

“Christopher.” Darren breathes out the name, then turns to look at him. “I knew it was you.” Darren feels the sudden urge to laugh—it only took a few days, but it was a few days too many. “I knew I’d find you.”

Chris, because it’s definitely Chris, blinks at him.

“Y-you were looking for me?” He asks in surprise, and Darren grins at hearing his voice once more.

“How could I not be?” Darren does cup his face then, and Chris flushes. “But you could have made it easier on me. Why did you run?”

Chris avoids his eyes again.

“Can you not understand why?” He looks up at Darren, pleadingly. “You see me now, as I really am…”

“I hate to interrupt.”

Darren finds that incredibly hard to believe.

“But, even with the prince in my house, this  _is_  still my household, and I would quite like to know what’s going on.”

“Well, madame.” Darren reaches forward, and takes Chris’s hand, never breaking eye contact. “I have found what I have lost, and, if he allows it, I’d like to take him with me.”

“You…” The lady seems at a loss for words,  _finally_ , but Darren pays her no more mind. Not when Chris’s hand tightens in his.

“Of course.”

*

Joey rides outside of the coach, leaving Darren and Chris alone in the cabin. It’s quiet, and Chris seems so shy, sitting almost as far away from Darren as he can manage. He’s unsure how to break the silence—he’d been so positive that Chris would be just as ecstatic as Darren himself feels, but now he’s not quite so sure. He furrows his eyebrows, and sends a worried look in Chris’s direction.

“Did you not want to come with me?” He asks, because that’s his greatest fear. Chris looks up at him, and Darren finds that he can’t help the way his stomach swoops when their eyes meet.

“Of course I did, of course, I…” Chris hugs his arms tight around himself. “I just don’t understand.”

“Then I’d be happy to clarify,” Darren offers, with a smile, but Chris still remains guarded.

“…I’m but a servant, your highness, how—”

“Darren.”

Chris looks up, startled.

“I told you to call me Darren, remember? Chris…” The words stop in Darren’s throat, and he moves closer, taking one of Chris’s hands between his. “You never once treated me like a prince.” Chris flushes, looking away. “And that is not a bad thing. I am not just Darren with many people, but that is the only way you ever saw me.” Darren laces their fingers together. “How would your own status ever effect how I see you?”

Chris laughs then, a wet sound, and Darren notices then how tears streak down his cheeks. He raises his hand to stop them, lifting Chris’s chin in the process.

“I did not want you to see me this way,” Chris explains, voice hitching.

“Covered in soot or dressed in the finest silks, it makes no difference to me.”

Chris laughs again, and Darren pulls him closer as the tears continue to fall.

“How are you so wonderful?” Chris looks up at him, and the trails of his tears are visible in the grime on his face. Darren pushes at the wetness with his thumb, and dirt clings to his own skin, but he doesn’t mind it.

“You think I’m wonderful now, but give it a few days time and you shall probably regret ever taking my hand,” Darren teases lightly, even though the fear is there, but it does as intended—Chris’s smile blooms on his face, and he shakes his head.

“Unlikely.” And then his smile turns sly. “Especially since you took my hand first.”

“And there’s the Chris I know.” Darren stares at him, mood suddenly shifting from playful to serious again. “Did you know why there was a ball?” He asks, softly.

“My stepmother and sisters did not say, only spoke of… How they hoped to charm you.” Chris grins a little. “I must say that it was a small sort of accomplishment, knowing I had somehow garnered your attention rather than them.”

“Perhaps because you were not seeking it,” Darren murmurs, brushing his fingers along Chris’s face. “That, and you are quite beautiful. Without a mask, especially.” This time, when Chris laughs, it is quite indelicately.

“Pardon me, but I am  _covered_  in dirt.”

“Soot or silk,” Darren repeats. “You are beautiful to me no matter which.” Darren slides his fingers until he is holding Chris’s face again, and looks deep into his eyes. “For a long while now, my parents have wished me to marry. As the kingdom knows, my brother abdicated the throne, and I was suddenly expected to become king one day. My father is still healthy, may it continue to be this way, yet they pushed me even still.

“Chris… That’s why the ball was held. So that I might find the person I wish to marry.”

Chris’s eyes widen, and his mouth parts.

“When… When you said that you choose me, you—”

“Yes.” Darren leans forward and their noses touch. “If you will have me.”

“If I will?” Chris asks in disbelief, and then laughs, and then suddenly Darren is being kissed. He makes a surprised noise against Chris’s lips, and then dips into it, clinging to Chris almost desperately.  _Finally_.

“I’m sorry,” Chris whispers when they pull apart, and Darren grins and shakes his head.

“Never,  _never_  apologize for such a thing.” And Darren presses forward to kiss him again, and then breaks apart suddenly. “Was that a yes?” Chris blinks at him, as if dazed. “You will marry me?”

“I will marry you,” Chris affirms, and then Darren is pressing their smiles together, too happy to even properly kiss.


End file.
